


I will only break your pretty things...

by bardofthursdays



Series: Tounges & Teeth (Yennskier) [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angry Sex, BAMF Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Blood and Injury, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Mentioned Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Shut Up Kiss, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29546307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bardofthursdays/pseuds/bardofthursdays
Summary: ~“I may indeed be an attention whore, but that isn’t why I hate you. I hate you because you don’t deserve his attention. I hate you because you don’t care for him the way he cares for you. I hate you because you drag him along like some lost puppy and then dump him on the side of the road when you don't feel like dealing with him anymore-”“Projecting a little, are we?”“Oh fuck you.” He growled.“You should be so lucky, Bard.”~Or: Yennefer finds Jaskier after the mountain and... complicatedness ensues
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Tounges & Teeth (Yennskier) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170737
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	1. A bit more poetic

**Author's Note:**

> ~  
> Title and general inspo for this fic is from Tounges&Teeth by The Crane Wives.  
> ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is chapter one of maybe 5? I'll be posting one a day and I already have plans to make this a series so stay tuned...  
> 

**~Jaskier~**

So that was it. Geralt was... done with him. It was bound to happen sooner or later, he supposed. Everyone got tired of him eventually, it’s just… Why did he let him stay so long?

  
Why did the bastard let him get attached? 

Sure, the Witcher openly displayed how annoyed he was with Jaskier almost constantly, but he had never outright told Jaskier to _leave_ before. 

Until now, that is.

Maybe he didn’t say _leave_ in so many words but it’s hard to interpret what he said any differently.  
  


“If life could give me one blessing it would be to take _you_ off my hands.” 

He should have- no, he _would_ have left before now... Except he had, for some reason, convinced himself that The Witcher secretly _did_ like him, however deep down it may be.

He had read too much into Geralt’s small touches and simple acts of kindness. He had thrived on them.  
  


_Foolish. Completely foolish of him._

Jaskier stopped his incessant pacing around the meager campsite for a moment, staring off into the dense trees. 

_Could be anything out there_.

  
Borch, a _dragon_ as it turns out, had brought Geralt along to protect him from all of the strange dangerous creatures that roamed this mountain. If a bloody dragon needed Geralt’s protection, then...

How was _Jaskier_ meant to survive it on his own?

That was the thing really, the nail in the coffin. Geralt had just _let_ him leave, just let him storm off without a word, quite possibly to his death. 

Jaskier scowled, kicking a stone into the trees. Maybe a bit too hard, in retrospect. 

“Augh- Ow, shit, fu- bollocks-” 

A stream of profanities left the bard’s mouth as he hopped around the campsite cradling his aching toes. The boot had done little to protect him, as per usual. _That was the price he paid for looking good,_ he supposed.  
  


But his shitty footwear was, as it turns out, the least of his problems. 

A bone-chilling growl echoed from the nearby foliage. 

He stopped in his tracks, straightening up and slipping the small dagger from its hiding place in his boot, gripping it tightly.

Geralt had given it to him. The memory, once sweet, now left a sour taste in his mouth. 

  
This was one of those things he’d clung to, trying convince himself that the Witcher ever gave a fuck about him. 

It was an ornate looking thing, though not useless by any means. Geralt had presented it to him in a small box, near his birthday in fact. Before, he had liked to think the Witcher actually remembered, maybe even wrote the date down somewhere so he could get Jaskier a gift.

Now, he figured it must have been a lucky coincidence, he must have found the knife in some town by chance, instead of having it made specially for him like the bard had foolishly assumed.

It had Dandelions etched into the handle. He huffed a small, sad laugh at the reminder of his chosen name’s meaning.  
  
Jaskier translated to Dandelion in the common tongue. A weed, nothing but a nuisance. Something you might’ve thought was pretty to look at at first, but that you’d simply throw away once it had no more use. After you stripped it dry of course. 

_More fitting than he could have ever anticipated when he had chosen the moniker._

He ran his thumb over the carvings now as he trained his eyes and ears for any sound. He thought bitterly, for a moment, that he could really use Geralt’s well trained ears and senses right about now.  
  
_Who knows what this beast could be..._

He vaguely remembered Geralt listing all of the monsters that tended to inhabit these sorts of places.

  
The list was vast and _none_ of them sounded too lovely. Then, of course, there was the issue of how _many_ there likely were, seeing as the dragon had kept any civilization at bay until now. 

So this was it, then. Not exactly the _poetic_ death he had hoped for. Just a sad, brokenhearted bard being slaughtered, no one left to care about his death.

A tear slipped its way past, running a small track down his dirt-covered cheek... He wiped it away, steeling himself.

  
He refused to go out without a fight. He wasn’t actually as pathetic as people assumed, and he would prove it, it seemed, with his final breath.

“Come on, you dirty bastard! Show yourself already!” The bard shouted through gritted teeth, his trained tenor voice strong and sure.  
  
He barely registered the rustling before it jumped from the bushes, landing in front of him with a deep growl.

  
All of the air left Jaskier’s lungs as he took in what was in front of him.

“This must be some cruel joke.” The bard whispered, to no one in particular.

It was not.  
  
The white wolf bared its teeth, growling again and stepping closer, the promise of violence in its eyes.

  
Jaskier stumbled backwards uselessly, dagger dropping to the ground, forgotten.

  
_Well this,_ he supposed, _was a bit more poetic._


	2. Sticks and Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones a bit longer as I sort of combined two chapters, hope you enjoy :)

**Yennefer**

**~**

“Load of horseshit, this is.” The mage grumbled to herself as she trudged through the dark woods. She would have made herself a portal and left already, had she not been so utterly drained from the recent battle. Usually a battle such as that wouldn't affect her so severely but combined with the three day trek _up_ the blasted mountain and... the way it ended. Well.  
  
“Gods, stupid useless fucking dragon.” 

And now, she was talking to herself. Lovely. 

  
She yearned for a warm bath and a soft bed, but it was doubtful that she’d make it down the mountain tonight and even more doubtful that she could muster enough energy to make another magical tent. Her magic was not nearly as drained as before, but she was exhausted. Physically and… emotionally.

“Useless fucking witcher.” She kicked a branch out of her path, annoyed. Making portals was a complicated business and she couldn’t trust herself with it at the moment, nor did she trust herself with making herself a campsite, at least not the magical type.

_Forest floor it was, then._ _  
_  
She was building a frankly, quite pitiful fire when she heard it. 

A gut-wrenching scream rang from the trees to her left, obviously one of intense pain.

Normally, she would have just cast a spell to block out the noise, as it was really not her concern, but, she needed to conserve energy and...

And there was something about that scream, or rather- the voice behind it, that was sickeningly familiar. Something that pulled her to her feet almost without realizing it. 

She grabbed her cloak and ran into the woods with barely a second thought. She _had_ to reach that voice.  
  
It was a good ways off into the woods, but not too far. Gods, at least she hoped not.

More screaming reached her ears, closer now, though this scream was of less pain and more terror. 

The mage quickened her pace, hardly noticing the branches cutting her face and snapping off into her hair as she raced through the dense thicket.

Finally, she burst through to a small clearing.

Her heart nearly climbed out of her throat and onto the _dirt_ at what she saw, though she’d never admit it. 

The bard, _Jaskier,_ it was-

“Shit.” 

Her own voice was barely audible over the rumbling growls of the white wolf that was prowling towards him. 

It wasn’t a small wolf, and it was clearly out for violence, its mouth and jaw dripping with blood. The wolf wasn’t hard to see under the waning daylight, yellow teeth flashing behind it’s slavering jaws. 

Her eyes flicked to the giant gashes on the minstrel’s right arm that were oozing a _concerning_ amount of blood...

_His playing arm,_ she realized with a start.

Not that she cared, of course.

A broken whimper left the bards mouth and-

_Ah, fuck it._ To hell with conserving power, it’d been long enough, she supposed.

  
With a shout that hardly rivaled what Jaskier’s well trained vocal cords had produced, she thrust her hands out, snapping the wolf's neck in an impressive display of violent power.

**Jaskier**

~

The bard shouted again, scrambling backwards till he felt his back hit something- a tree. 

_ Bollocks. _

“W-Who the fuck-” His voice was very hoarse, at least compared to his usual strong, clear tone. 

Bright blue eyes darted around the campsite scanning for- for what, he wasn’t sure. For whatever- or whoever- had stopped the wolf- 

_ Holy shit. _

“Yennefer?” He didn’t know what else to say. For once he was at a loss for words.

Fucking Yennefer of Vengerberg was standing there, breathing heavily, looking... weak? 

He must be dead.

As if to prove how truly alive he was, the initial adrenaline wore off. Rather fast for his taste. Suddenly, he could feel _everything_. The deep gashes in his arm throbbed maddeningly. He let out a strangled sort of groan, squeezing his eyes shut as stars danced in his vision.

His eyes fluttered open and he saw something that anyone else probably would have categorized as  _ concern  _ painting the mage's features as she came closer, crouching down in front of him. But he knew better than to think she’d ever worry about  _ him _ .

“Bard,” he faintly registered her voice, meeting her burning gaze hesitantly. 

He groaned again in lieu of response, the back of his head hitting the tree. 

Suddenly, he got deja vu from the last time his head had rolled back and hit a tree, though this was a rather different context and he was wearing _considerably_ more clothing now.    
  
Speaking of clothing, he snapped his head back up as he heard fabric ripping.

“Hey! Hey! Get your filthy hands  _ off,  _ you witch! I’ll have you know this is very fine fabric-!” He was cut off. 

Yennefer was relentlessly fast, shoving a cloth in the bard's mouth and pouring some sort of potent alcohol onto the wound.  _ His  _ cloth and alcohol, he faintly realized. 

It was an extremely cheap demijohn of some clear drink he didn’t much care to know the name of. He was saving it for a hard time and after a moment’s consideration, he supposed this seemed to fit the bill nicely.

It felt like acid. 

He writhed against the tree, muffled screams still impressively loud through the torn fabric.

Yennefer held him down as best she could, trying to keep him from disturbing his wounds further. 

He managed to settle down a bit, closing his eyes and breathing hard through his nose at the sudden heat blooming throughout his body from the alcohol.

He definitely didn’t care to know what was in _that_ shit. 

The moment it became clear that she was done, he spat the cloth out. “A little warning would have been nice.” He tried to sound annoyed, but it came out sort of pitiful.

“That should stave off any infection or disease, so a _thank you_ would do nicely.” Her tone was cool and emotionless as per usual, no sign of whatever she _seemed_ to be feeling before.

Maybe it had been pity.

He opened his eyes again as he heard rustling. 

“What the  _ fuck _ do you think you’re doing- hey! Those are my things!” He tried- and failed- to sit up properly and she shot him a glare, effectively rooting him in place. 

“I have to bandage your wound, unless you’d rather I leave you here to die?” 

He sighed dramatically, defeated.

“Fine, just-just use the white one- _Hey_ , no! Not- not that one! Wait, Geralt bought me tha-” He cut himself off, eyes burning at the reminder. 

“Ah fuck it, rip it to shreds. I don’t care.” He smiled bitterly, voice shaky as the deep rooted pain of 20 years of hopeless pining threatened to _finally_ break him completely.

  
Her eyes flicked up to his, and it was back, for a moment, that emotion...

_ It is pity then, _ he thought bitterly as she looked away.

She shoved the shirt back in his bag and pulled out the white shirt instead. It was a small gesture, but it was something, and he _hated_ her for it.

He was not going to convince himself that he was wanted, not again. Not so soon after...

“Anyway, can’t you just-” he gestured vaguely with his uninjured arm. “Woosh it away? Hm? I mean, surely the _great_ Yennefer of Vengerberg can’t be bested by a simple flesh wound-”

“Do you  _ ever _ shut up?” She snapped, ripping the shirt into small strips.

  
He tried not to flinch, smiling brightly instead.

  
“Never.” 


	3. Stay...

**Yennefer**

~

The mage took a deep breath, trying to keep from incinerating the man on the spot.

  
He was, as always, _completely_ insufferable. No one had ever made her _feel_ every emotion so strongly before and it was completely and utterly unbearable. 

Nonetheless she found herself gathering up the strips of cloth and crouching back down in front of him. 

His eyes fluttered open, slightly cloudy now but still sharp as ever. The bard watched her curiously as she uncorked the salve she’d found in his bag.

“I assume this has some sort of medicinal quality.”

He hummed confirmation, sounding more like his traveling companion, though she decided against mentioning it. Neither of them needed the reminder.

“Glad you grabbed the right bottle.” He smirked. “Well, that one works in a pinch but-”  
  


“Do you _want_ me to leave you here?”

He held up his hands- well, hand in surrender. 

“I’m going to bandage it now... Can I?” The mage gestured to his arm. She _never_ touched someone without asking, barring an emergency of some sort.   
  


Jaskier's eyebrows raised in genuine surprise before he nodded, something close to a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

She lifted his arm to better examine the wounds, extremely gentle despite her deep annoyance. 

“You’ll live, you don’t even need stitches.”

If she was going to do this she wasn’t half assing it. That’s what she told herself. That’s why she was being so careful.

“Did you think I wouldn’t ask before…” She gestured to his arm loosely. “You know?” She questioned, pouring some salve onto her hand. “I may not like you, but I’m not an arsehole.”

He winced as she spread the salve over the cuts. The smile he gave her was hollow, eyes distant.

People usually take what they want from me. My reputation, er, precedes me, so they, uh- _assume_ I’m willing…” He spoke slowly, trying to piece his words together. “It’s rare that anyone asks permission.”

She nodded, brow creasing as she processed the fact that maybe, just maybe, the world had been a bit shit to him too. The fact that despite having become reluctant travel companions these last few years due to their mutual attachment to Geralt... she barely knew him. Not any genuine version of him at least. 

  
“People are shit.” The mage said, shrugging lightly as she picked up some makeshift gauze, beginning to wrap the wound.

  
She was too focused on ignoring the way Jaskier hissed in pain, breath hitching, the way his face pinched, trying and failing to hide how much it hurt. She was too focused on ignoring the way it pulled at something deep inside of her. Too focused to notice that she had actually agreed with him on something. 

  
No bickering, no sly comments. 

Yennefer sighed as she tied off the last strip.

  
“There. Good as new. Why is it that I’m always healing you, Bard?”

He laughed, and it was genuine. Maybe the first she’d heard from him.

“Suppose you’re always there when my life goes to shit.” He teased, no real heat to his words. 

  
The bard’s eyelids were drooping. She stood up, unsure of what to do for a moment before deciding it _was_ about time she made her own camp.

  
“Get some rest, Bard. I enchanted the salve so it should be mostly healed by morning.”

_The least I can do,_ she thought.

She turned to leave, but-

“Wait!” Jaskier called out, voice steadier already. She faced him, raising a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. 

He seemed to be having some sort of internal fight with himself before finally rolling his eyes with a sigh.

  
“ _Stay_.”

There was something… something in his eyes, she couldn’t quite work out what it was.

He continued, not breaking eye contact.

“Y’know, the least I can do is give you a place to sleep for the night. As, er, a payment of sorts. Besides, better to stick together and all.” His voice grew less sure with each word, barely a mumble by the end.

“Fine.”


	4. Rip It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut chapterrr and the final one for this installment. I will continue this in the near future :))

**Jaskier**

**~**

The bard woke to the sounds of someone shuffling around the camp. 

_Ah,_ he thought, _Geralt must be getting packed for-_

He groaned as the memories from the previous day hit him bit by bit. Rubbing his eyes against the blaring sun.

The dragon, Geralt telling him to fuck off, the wolf, and- ah, right. _Yennefer_. 

And, speak of the devil, the mage walked over to him from where she was apparently _rummaging_ through his shit _again_.

  
His voice was still rough with sleep as he sat up in his bedroll. “What the fuck were you doing in my-” 

His question was cut off as she threw a clean chemise at his face with _surprising_ accuracy. 

The Bard examined it, trying to figure out what she wanted him to-

“I need to check your wounds to make sure you didn’t do even _more_ damage during the night, and you need to change out of… _that.”_

She seemed amused. He was not.

The chemise he was currently wearing _was_ indeed a bit pitiful, what, with the rips and the blood and dirt...

But _before_ , it had been one of his favorites. The fabric matched his eyes and it had beautiful stitching on the front... but alas.

All good things come to an end. 

Honestly, it was a bit silly to be worrying about a chemise when he almost certainly would have died the previous night, had it not been for Yennefer. 

The bard flexed his right arm experimentally and smiled despite himself. It was, as Yennefer had said, almost completely healed. He had full range of motion already with hardly a trace of pain.

She had not only saved his life, but also his music, hardly having any obligation _or_ real reason to do either. _Maybe_ she wasn’t so bad after all.

  
“Yennefer.”

Violet eyes focused on him as she put down the demijohn, which seemed to now be filled with water.

Either that, or she was downing a concerning amount of extremely potent alcohol at an hour when even _Jaskier_ wouldn’t drink. 

“What? Spit it out, bard, I don’t have all day.”

He rolled his eyes, standing up with a sigh. She eyed the forgotten chemise on his bedroll, annoyance clear on her face.

“Right, yeah, I’ll change momentarily, but uh- but... first I… I wanted to thank you, Yennefer. You didn’t have to help me last night, especially after how I’ve treated you and-”

“I don’t need your thanks, Bard. I didn’t save you because I _care_ . Don’t get it twisted, and do _not_ write any ballads about me unless you fancy being turned into something unpleasant.” 

Her words stung more than he’d like to admit, and, as it often went with her, that hurt warped into anger rather quickly. He took a deep breath.

“Look, I was just trying to be polite. All I’m saying is you didn’t have to do that and-”

  
“Oh is that what this is?” She stepped closer, gaze fiercely terrifying as always, violet burning through cornflower blue. “Would you rather I had let you _die_ than for you to be indebted to me? Hm? Well unlike _Geralt_ , I don’t much care for your groveling so if you could _kindly_ fuck off.”

He kept his voice steady despite the burning anger steadily growing in his chest.

  
“I am _not_ groveling, witch. That’s insecurity speaking. You know, for someone so _obsessed_ with purging weakness, you-”

“Don’t finish that sentence Bard or so help me I will-”

“You’ll what? Kill me? You may not _care_ for me but you _did_ save my life last night and that wasn’t nothing. I don’t much care for you either, you know.”

“Of _course_ you don’t, whenever I was around, I stole every last drop of Geralt's attention and you couldn’t _stand_ it. You’re just like every other minstrel. Nothing but a lonely little attention whore _masked_ in dangerous overconfidence. It’ll be the death of you, Bard.” She spit the honorific at him like it hurt her on the way out.

The mage's voice was venomous, walking forward as she spoke, until much like last night, he was backed into a tree.

He glared at her, politeness thrown completely out of the window.

  
“I may indeed be an attention whore, but that _isn’t_ why I hate you. I hate you because you don’t _deserve_ his attention. I hate you because you don’t care for him the way he cares for you. I _hate_ you because you drag him along like some lost puppy and then dump him on the side of the road when you don't _feel_ like dealing with him anymore.”

She smirked.

“ _Projecting_ a little, are we?”

  
“Oh _fuck you._ ” He growled.

“You should be so lucky, _bard.”_ This time, the word didn’t sound so hateful coming from her mouth. 

He froze, mind coming to a complete halt at the implication. 

His eyes flicked to her mouth and- 

_Oh no oh no oh fu-_

Her lips met his hungrily as she pressed a hand to his chest, pinning him properly to the tree. She tasted of that disgusting alcohol, which she apparently _had_ been drinking at this ungodly hour.  
  
It didn’t take his brain long to catch up, and he returned the kiss enthusiastically, hands threading into her raven hair and pulling tight.

He smirked into her mouth as he felt her breath hitch. She retaliated quickly, biting his lip so hard it split, pulling an embarrassingly loud groan from the bard as she laved her tongue over the cut.

Jaskier’s hands fell from her hair to cup her neck, kissing her filthily, all teeth and tongue.  
  
He could _taste_ his blood in her mouth and it was absolutely intoxicating.  
  
Before he knew what was happening she had pulled him away from the tree and shoved him over onto the bedroll.

He went willingly, watching enraptured as she climbed down onto him, immediately pinning his wrists to the ground. She silenced his groan with a kiss, as merciless as before, quickly releasing his wrists to start unlacing his chemise. He whined against her lips at the loss of contact, until he registered that they were still firmly pinned. Using her magic like that shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, but he moaned despite himself.

She broke the kiss to remove his chemise but he cut her off.

“Rip it.” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Rip. It.” He glared at her, a challenge in his eyes.

She didn’t hesitate, grabbing it and pulling it apart with ease. 

It pulled a low keen out of him, though he tried valiantly to suppress it. Stronger than she looks, but he knew that already.

“Get the oil,” She snapped, starting on the laces to his trousers and unpinning his hands with a flick of her wrist. 

  
He rested his hands on hers gently, holding them still. 

She shot him a look that would _terrify_ most people. Jaskier just smirked, brushing her hair behind her ear in a tender way he _knew_ she loathed and leaning into her ear, voice low.

“I want to _taste_ you first.”  
  
He delighted in the slight shiver that ran through her, knowing full well how much she _hated_ showing she was affected by him. Likely classifying it as some form of weakness. Still, her face remained blank, appearing pointedly unaffected.

“Mm, fine, may as well put that tongue to good use for once. Let's see if you live up to your… _reputation_ .”  
  


The bard chuckled, wrapping his leg around hers and flipping them in a swift move that punched the air out of the mage’s lungs.  
  
He didn’t waste any time, crawling down to lift her dress, just enough. 

He kissed her inner thigh before starting to lift the dress fully off, eyes flicking up, looking to her for permission.  
  
She rolled her eyes, and suddenly the dress disappeared, reappearing folded next to them. 

He huffed his annoyance. 

“That’s cheating.” His breath hit her skin in puffs as he spoke, lips tickling the sensitive skin of her stomach. 

Jaskier pressed soft, open mouth kisses all the way up her body. Her hands, her wrists, the scars that lay there, he didn’t miss anything. He relished the way she tensed with each touch.

He smiled as he reached her neck, kissing over the hollow of her throat, her pulse point, her jaw, her cheek, and finally-

She grabbed his face just before he reached her mouth.

  
“I am not some lovely maiden, Bard, some _muse_ for you to _cherish_.” 

Her voice was a bit shaky, and that unraveled him in ways he’d really rather not address.

“Ah, I am well aware of that, _my lady_.” 

The honorific seemed to strike a chord and he licked into her mouth, silencing the angry retort he _knew_ was coming. Hands trailing down, infuriatingly slow, fingers dancing along the lace of her undergarments. He slid his finger under the hem, pulling it so that it snapped against her skin.  
  
She hissed softly and he grinned, sliding back down and quickly licking her through the thin fabric. Fine silk, not surprising. They did tend to share a love for the finer things in life. If nothing else. 

He continued to tease at her with this partial touch, not lasting especially long as his own desire overcame him. The soft noises she was making were just too _tempting_. He wanted to see what else he could pull from her.

The bard grabbed her thighs lightly, pulling her gaze to his.

“I want to make you sing, my lady.”

He gave her no time to respond, pulling the lace down with his teeth and promptly licking into her. 

Jaskier almost didn’t hear her low whine over the sound of his own. He had half expected her to taste like lilac and gooseberries, or maybe to have enchanted herself to taste like honey or some bullshit like that.  
  
But no, it was natural and filthy and so fucking _Yennefer_ that he was drunk off of it in seconds. 

The mage pushed her fingers into his hair as he circled her clit, finding the patterns that made her _squirm_ with surprising ease. 

Finally, _finally_ she let go, head falling back as she moaned, quickly biting her palm to try and silence it. 

“Let me hear you, Yennefer,” His voice was completely shot.

She glared at him instead, shoving his head back down.

  
He obliged, knowing full well he’d have to work for this, and dear gods, was he willing.

The bard managed to pull a few more sweet, if slightly _muffled_ moans from her before bringing his hand up to her mouth and slipping two fingers in. 

He could practically sense her eye roll and _hear_ the ‘Of course, using my own spit instead of oil like a fucking animal.’ but he _knew_ this was her preference. At least for this part.

He wasn’t quite sure _how_ he knew...

She certainly wasn’t complaining when he slipped a finger in, quickly finding that one spot and stroking it in time with his tongue. 

He added another finger and the mage let out a broken groan, thighs starting to shake already. 

Her hands tightened in his hair, a clear warning that she was close, but he didn’t stop. In fact, he doubled his efforts. It wasn’t long before she tensed suddenly, pulling his hair so hard he thought it'd rip straight out.

“Come for me, Yennefer,”

“Fuck, Bard, ah, fuck- oh, you’re completely insufferable. Gods, I despise you.”

The mage somehow managed to insult him through the entirety of her climax, which once again, shouldn’t have been hot.

She lay there a moment, catching her breath before rounding on him.

“You buffoon, you never listen-”

“We have time, my lady, I’m merely warming up.” He smirked, eyes dark.

  
“Oh, shut up.”

  
She bucked down onto his fingers, pulling his bag towards them with a flick of her wrist.

It collided quite painfully with his shoulder and she smirked down at him as he fumbled for the oil before climbing back up once again to kiss her. 

She took the bottle from his hands, placing it aside.

He barely had time to question this as she looped her leg around his and flipped them back.  
  
He giggled, knowing full well she had learned that from him and unsure of why that excited him so.

His wrists were once again pinned as he was forced to watch her unlace his trousers and pull them down, glaring directly into his eyes the _entire_ time.  
  
He was completely weak to it, unable to stop himself from shivering and whimpering softly with _every_ touch.  
  
The bard hissed as the cold air hit his exposed skin. He was painfully hard at this point, thoughts fuzzy and unclear. He bucked up uselessly, searching for some form of friction. 

“No.” The mage snapped, pushing his hips till they were pinned as well. “None of that. You will take what I give you Bard, nothing more.”

He whined, breathing heavily. “Y-Yes my lady.”

“Good.” 

Without warning, she poured the oil directly onto his cock, not even bothering to warm it in her hands. She coated it quickly and before he could process any of this, she was positioning herself over him.

They both hissed at the contact. 

  
“P-Please,”

“What do you want, Bard?”

“Kiss me.”  
  


“If it’ll shut you up,”

Her mouth was on his again as she slid down, painfully slow, until she was fully seated. 

  
They both groaned into the kiss before Yennefer suddenly snapped her hips up then slid back down, painfully slow again.  
  
His head spun. 

“I- I’m not gonna last long like th-this” He managed between panting breaths. 

  
“Me neither.” The mage whispered, barely audible and obviously reluctant. 

She kissed his smug smile away with a hissed “Quiet Bard”.

He liked to think he was rather good at holding out after his many years of whoredom, alas this was slightly different... How? How was it different? He racked his brain for an answer, before deciding that he pointedly did _not_ want to know.

They continued this tantalizing rhythm and before long they were both completely wrecked, movements becoming sporadic as they neared their climax. 

"Close already? Hm?" She taunted, as if she wasn't in the same boat. "Gonna cum for me already like the little slut you are?" 

This punched a throaty groan out of the bard, shivering at the insult.

"Y-Yes, I'm your little slut, Yen," 

The nickname caught them both by surprise. He only ever called her Yennefer, or Witch. 

There wasn't much time to contemplate the meaning behind this as Yennefer shook with her second orgasm of the night.

Hearing her cry out his name combined with the sensation of her nails digging into his shoulder blades until they drew _blood_ managed to pull Jaskier's out of him shortly after. 

He spilled inside her, crumpling forward onto her shoulder with a hoarse cry.

They stayed like that for a moment, curled into each other, panting softly, before the mage rolled off.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

The bard's brain _finally_ had priority over his dick and he… well _fuck_ , this was decidedly not one of his best moments.

"Yennefer-"

"Stop panicking, Bard, it didn't _mean_ anything." The mage snapped suddenly from beside him.

He winced.

"Right, obviously. Wasn't panicking." 

So what if his voice was a bit deflated, so what if he felt as if his already battered heart had just been put through a blender. 

It meant _nothing_ , like she said. He was just over emotional, as always. 

Just another example of him being used for what he does best. 

"Hope I didn't disappoint." He says, only half joking. He got up without waiting for an answer. Tossing her the washcloth after wiping himself off.

Usually he'd take the time to clean his partner up himself. Followed by plenty of kissing and cuddling and general loveliness because he _had_ earned his reputation, and not by skill alone.

But he doubted Yennefer would allow or _desire_ anything of the sort and he really didn't feel like facing her at the moment.

So he cowered, gathering his things into his bag and cursing himself for once again managing to fuck things up.

How he had managed to fuck _their_ relationship up further was beyond him but-

More importantly, why was he worrying about _her_ of all people. 

It's not like he actually _cared_ for the witch.

He quickly threw the clean chemise on and slung his bag over his shoulder. Walking away from the camp without a second glance.

"Wait." 

Her voice startled him, the last thing he had expected. Something fluttered in his chest as he heard his words from the night before reflected back to him.

He turned around, something he wouldn't dare to label as hope filling his chest.

Something that couldn't possibly have been disappointment replacing it as he saw her holding out his lute. 

"Forgetting something? How _have_ you managed to live so long?"

He flashed her just about the fakest smile he could muster.

"Pure luck and a bit of charm, dear." 

And with that he marched out of camp, pointedly ignoring the way it pulled at his heart. 

Because it was _surely_ just the ache of Geralt's cruel words still haunting him and nothing else.

He would be just fine on his own.

And he was...

Until he wasn't.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!! If you did, my tumblr is also bardofthursdays and we can hang out there :))


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